


Birthday Presence

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, snape's hands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-09-29
Updated: 2005-09-29
Packaged: 2017-11-02 07:43:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/366599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On Severus's birthday, Remus gives a gift and receives one in return.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Birthday Presence

"Severus."

He is lost to everything but the page in front of him, an entry in a yellowed herbal I found in a sale bin on Portobello Road one Saturday. A delicate hand-drawn sprig of hazel on one page, careful copperplate script on the other, stained with time and tea.

"Severus."

He looks up at that, coming slowly back to this room from that space in his mind lined with slate tables and gently steaming cauldrons. I love his face when he is there, nearly as much as I love his face when he is here with me.

"Are you having a nice birthday?"

He smiles. "Very nice indeed," he says. His long fingers touch the timeworn pages. "The restaurant was more than adequate, and this herbal is stunning. Thank you, Remus." He looks back at the book, turning the pages slowly.

"We aren't finished, Severus."

He looks up again, eyes hooded, cautious. This is the spy straddling two worlds, maybe more. This is the man I hunted, not the man I found.

"Put the book down and come here."

His eyes widen momentarily, and his cheeks flush. He puts the book down and stands, taking two steps across the hearthrug to me. "It's late, Remus. Surely we are done with celebrations for another year."

"Not yet."

He stands before me, unsure and hesitant. I have unbalanced him, this man so carefully aligned, in my own gyroscopic way. I should be sorrier for that, but I cannot be. He folds his hands carefully, drawing in, dropping his gaze.

"Severus."

I reach for his hands, teasing them apart and linking our fingers. He steps imperceptibly closer, barriers still strong. I draw him nearer, pulling his fingers to my mouth, kissing each tip with care. They are stained with bile and turmeric and bat blood. The nails are rounded and peeling from the liquids he must handle each day. He is embarrassed by his hands. It is something I will never understand.

"Let me."

He comes closer, only a half-step away now. I have covered his palms with my lips, sliding up his wrists, my kisses catching the blue throb that shivers under the translucent skin. His breath catches in his throat as my progress is stopped by the rigid edges of his shirt-cuffs. I tug gently.

"Be with me."

So careful and worried. He folds himself down onto my lap, trying not to wedge one of his bones into me. He hates this feeling, he told me once, this sense of childlike pleasure in touch. It is unfamiliar. I force it on him when I can. It is a promise to the past, I think, as I stroke his hair.

"My love, my own...."

He nestles closer, resting his lips in the hollow of my throat, fingers threading between my buttons. I can feel his slow relaxation, know the moment when he chooses once again to trust this. To trust me. We celebrated him today, but this gift is mine.


End file.
